


If these walls could talk

by ethos



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Holodecks/Holosuites, Humor, M/M, Nudity, Oneshot, Secret Crush, Secrets, fantasies, no established relationships, unrequited feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-12
Updated: 2020-02-12
Packaged: 2021-02-19 08:41:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,371
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22674958
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ethos/pseuds/ethos
Summary: Bashir overstays his time in the holosuite, and Quark discovers something he really didn’t need to know.
Relationships: Julian Bashir/Elim Garak, Odo/Quark (Star Trek)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 78





	If these walls could talk

It’s three minutes past closed when Quark remembers Dr. Bashir never left his rented holosuite.

He’s collecting the last glasses of the night, but he abandons them and heads for the suites, spurred forward by righteous anger. Bashir chose to play his own program that evening, and it must be the best one ever made, because he’s been in there for _three hours_ now.

Quark grits his teeth, each step furthering his frustration. Bashir might have stolen an hour from him, but it upsets Quark more that he _let_ Bashir steal an hour.

Accident or not, it doesn’t matter. It’s something that should never happen to a good Ferengi. A failure on his part.

By the time Quark reaches the suite, he’s mentally added up the overstay fee.

By the time he’s punched the bell three times, he’s decided to double the charge.

“My dear doctor!” he calls, slamming his palm onto the door. “You are an _hour_ past your rented time!”

Nothing.

Quark’s patience falters, and the feeling of being cheated becomes too much to bear.

He codes in the holosuite override, mumbling to himself as he does it. “A grown man spending _hours_ in here...roleplaying juvenile stories that don’t even have any _sex_ in them…”

Maybe his professionalism has waned over the past few months, or maybe it’s his annoyance that distracts him from shutting off the suite’s power before entering. Either way, it never occurs to him that he’s violating Bashir’s privacy, and he wouldn’t care even if it did.

The door slides open, revealing a sparse program modeled after station crew quarters. Bashir’s side profile greets Quark; he’s sitting up in bed, drinking a glass of wine.

Not wearing any clothes.

“And I must admit,” he’s saying. “That was surely the _best_ time I’ve ever--”

“You!” Quark steps over the threshold and points a finger at Bashir. “You owe me money!”

Bashir yelps, recoiling from the sound and dropping his glass on the bed. He falls from the mattress with a _thump_ , legs tangling in the sheets, only a moment later managing to struggle to his feet. He looks at Quark, looks down and registers his nudity. He yelps again, panics and yanks the sheets back up.

“Quark! What--What the hell?”

Quark leans back to take a proper look at Bashir, for the first time fully registering what he’s walked in on. He clears his throat, perturbed but moving on.

“Listen, doc. I don’t care if you get your rocks off in here. That’s what this place is for, actually.” He makes an open-palmed gesture, trying to appeal to Bashir’s good sense, but it’s futile.

Bashir isn’t looking at him anymore. He’s glancing around wildly now, searching for something Quark can’t see. “Quark, please--”

“ _However_ ,” Quark continues, harsh now, drawing Bashir’s attention back to him. “Once you start going overtime--at _close_ of all things!--that’s when your little fantasies become my business.” He rests his hands on his hips, pulls a number from his head. “Right now you owe me four strips and counting.”

Bashir holds up his hands in resignation. The sheets start to slip, and he fumbles for them again. “Fine, fine!” he barks, high-pitched and crazy, sounding like he’s crossed the brink of panic and fallen over. He looks around the room again, turns full circle. “Just get out! Please!”

Quark shrugs, amenable to that, and turns to leave.

It’s too late.

“Julian!” calls a familiar voice from the back room.

A _really_ familiar voice.

Bashir pales, opens his mouth to say something, but no words come out.

For a moment they only stare at each other, saying nothing, and then Quark blinks and looks to the back room. He wants to ask, wants to confirm what he knows to be true, but he thinks better of it. “I’m going to leave.”

He doesn’t leave, because Garak rounds the corner before he can.

“Is someone here, my dear?” Garak asks, light and easy and as wholly naked as Bashir. His gaze falls to Quark, and then he looks to Bashir. “Who is this?”

“I...I-I don’t--”

“No matter.” Garak smiles, long and lascivious. “You know I’m open to new pleasures, and to be perfectly honest I’ve been desiring an addition since--”

Bashir makes a loud noise, cutting him off, and presses his palms into his face. “Computer, end program!”

With that, it all disappears. The room, the bed. Garak. As a surprise to them both, even the sheets. Bashir curses, tries fruitlessly to cover himself before hurrying for his uniform on the floor.

Quark watches with wide eyes, still in mild shock. “Why didn’t you do that before?”

“I forgot I could,” Bashir answers through his teeth, not looking at Quark as he steps into his jumpsuit. He seems ten years older, his shoulders hunched and his hands still shaking with embarrassment.

It’s hard to watch.

Because he doesn’t know what to say after all that, and because there’s nothing he really _can_ say, Quark tries to make a light observation. “Wow, doc. You’re almost as skinny as Odo.”

The wrong thing to say.

“How do you know how skinny Odo is?!” Bashir snaps back, sudden and harsh, clumsily yanking his uniform up his torso and still not looking at Quark.

Quark scowls, and the skin above his collar becomes very warm. “No need to bite my head off, doctor. Whether you believe it or not, I didn’t intend to walk in on your little secret.”

“Of course!” Bashir laughs bitterly. “I’m sure it’s standard practice to enter private programs.”

“It is when you run past time!” Quark glares at him, folds his arms across his chest. “After what I just saw, you should be a bit nicer to me. Garak patronizes my establishment often. _Very_ often.”

Bashir flinches at the mention of Gark, and the color drains from his face as Quark’s words gradually sink in.

It’s satisfying enough to watch. Quark relaxes, rolls his eyes and lets Bashir free. “That’s an empty threat, doctor. I won’t mention this to Garak.”

Bashir swallows, glances at Quark briefly before adjusting his final pip. “Thank you, Quark.”

“And I’d appreciate it if you kept better track of time in the future.”

“ _Gladly_.”

They exit the holosuite together. Quark shuts the power down, and then he turns to Bashir, not quite finished with him yet. “There’s one thing I don’t understand,” he says. “Why don’t you pursue the real thing instead of some cheap simulation?”

“Don’t, Quark.”

“I’m just asking.” Quark holds his hands up in defense. “There’s a living, breathing Garak on the station who would say _yes_ , yet you choose to pursue cheap pixels.”

“Wow, Quark. You almost made that sound wholesome.” Bashir purses his lips, and for the first time of the night he looks fully at Quark. Stares at him with narrowed eyes, as if he’s weighing his next words very carefully, as if he’s gauging whether he should say them at all.

“I think you know why, Quark,” he says coolly. “I’d bet ten strips that you turn to the holosuite often, and I’d bet that you do it because you’re too afraid to ask people--or a certain _someone_ , I should specify--for what _you_ want.”

He brushes past Quark without another word. Quark watches him leave, mildly surprised and mildly confused at the response.

Later, as he locks the exterior of the bar, the night’s events replay in his head, and Quark thinks Bashir might be right. He knows why.

He thinks about the holoprogram locked in his safe--the one he’s never shown anyone, the one he’d die to keep hidden.

The one containing a graphic holo-image of the station’s head of security.

Quark’s face burns, and he tries to imagine how he’d feel if his secret ever got out, if Bashir somehow knew about it. A beat later he pushes the thought away, reassures himself of it’s impossibility.

There’s no likelihood Bashir suspects anything about his holoprogram. And, even if there was, Quark holds enough insurance to know the good doctor will keep it to himself.

Playing witness to a naked, holographic Garak guaranteed that much.

Quark laughs lightly, and he goes home, satisfied.

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this after an online friend suggested the idea to me, and it's the first thing I've ever done involving Garak/Bashir. The Quodo aspect just kind of slipped in there along the way, as those things tend to do. Hope you enjoyed!


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